S4E3
by Depressed Chibi
Summary: A short Venturecest follow up of the episode "Perchance to Dean".


"We have you surrounded! Get on the ground, now,"

Hank sat behind the wheel of the golf cart he had been driving. He had only been able to drive three miles from Dermott's house before the police caught up. His mind raced for any ideas that would get him out of this situation. He couldn't come up with anything.

Shaking like a puppy in the rain, Hank got out of the vehicle with both of his hands up. He dropped to is knees and lain face down on the road. Tears pitter-pattered on the asphalt. As officer approached him, Hank tried to speak, but nothing coherent came out.

The officers paid little attention to what he tried to say, instead, they put handcuffs on his wrists and hauled him into the police car. Hank didn't fight as he was roughly pushed into the backseat. He didn't have the will nor energy to resist.

The drive to the police station was a long and quiet one.

…

…

…

"Samson, turn that damn thing off," Colonel Gathers, the leader of SPHINX, barked. He marched over to where said man sat with a laptop on his lap. An alarm – which wasn't very loud, but terribly annoying – had started up from his computer and had been going off for about a minute. Brock furiously typed away on the devices, but nothing helped.

"I'm tryin', this thing is going nuts," Brock growled, his face showing obvious annoyance. "It might be broken, it's saying _everything _is wrong with the Venture compound. Fires, trespassers, somethin' blew up,"

"You are not their bodyguard anymore, Samson. What goes on-"

"Sir, they're right next to us. If their places goes down in smokes; we go too," Brock replied. What he said was technically true. It wasn't the whole truth, and Colonel Gathers knew this, but it was still a fact that couldn't be ignored. Honestly, Brock had grown to love the Ventures. They _were_ his family.

The alarm continued to blare and Brock had had enough, he hadn't even checked if they were okay yet. Not able to let the alarm just continue, Brock broke the laptop in half with a flick of his wrist. Finally there was silence.

"I'm gonna check out what happened," Brock said, his tone left no room for argument. The Swedish-Polish killing machine stalked out of the SPHINX headquarters.

Immediately Brock was confronted with flashing red-blue lights and a wailing siren. The police were there, that was definitely not a good sign. '_And firetrucks?' _Brock thought. The man jogged towards the house, only becoming more anxious as he got closer. There was smoke bellowing out of a few of the windows and parts of the lawn were either covered in small fires or had upturned dirt. In the middle of the chaos, Brock was able to make out a familiar figure.

"Doc," Brock shouted, running up the the figure. It was good the man was unharmed, but something seemed off. Once closer, the man realized just what was wrong with this picture. "What the fuck...," he muttered, getting a closer look at the replica of his old somewhat-not-really-boss.

Now that he thought about it, Brock noticed there were figures like that all over the yard. He wondered briefly what they were for, but shrugged away the thought. He still hadn't found the actual people he was looking for. The sound of rubber against gravel caught his attention. Several police cars were starting to drive away. From the looks of it, there were people in the back of the cars.

He found them.

…

…

…

Hank was ushered into the police station. The white walls and illuminating lights made the building almost blinding. Hank winced at the brightness, but continued to be pushed forward. Down the hall. A couple of turns. His shoes squeaked against the tile flooring.

The two policemen and the youth entered a doorway and Hank was ushered into a seat at a large table One of the police spoke in a gruff voice, "We have your family in custody; we'll be asking them, and yourself, some questions about tonight. Do you understand?"

Hank nodded weakly.

The officer read Hank his rights and asked if he, once again, understood. Hank replied that he did. "_Gooood..._ now what's your name, kid?"

"H-hank Venture," the blond answered, his voice hoarse.

The sternness of the officer fell as he eyed the teen in front of him. "You comfy? Need anything?"

"...Coffee?" Hank asked. Normally he wasn't allowed the stuff, but in situations like this, that's all he'd ever seen people drink. The policeman sent out his friend to fetch the drink. Thankfully, the man didn't take too long getting it.

Hank took it and tentatively sipped at the warm beverage. The policeman that sat across from him tapped his pen against the notebook he held. "Rusty Venture is your father, right? You live there at that house that caught fire," he paused, observing Hank, "Does your family... treat you well?"

"Huh?" Hank asked, confused as to what the man was getting at.

"Every hurt anybody?" the man clarified. He saw that Hank wasn't sure why he was asking this. The man sighed and rubbed his forehead before leaning forward. "We found the grave, we know about-"

Hank slammed his hands down on the table and stood. The policeman that was standing off to the side pulled out his gun, but made no move to shoot. "My dad didn't kill him! Sure, sometimes he yells at us, sometimes he doesn't believe us when we tell the truth, and some days he'll call me every other name in the book besides my own. But Pop ain't a killer," Hank barked.

"We have proof-"

"It. Wasn't. Him," Hank growled. He felt his body starting to shake again. "I... ," Hank sobbed, his knees felt weak and collapsed back into his chair. "I... ddid it. I ki-lled my b-bro-ther," Hank broke down, resting his head on the cold table as he pulled at his own hair in distress.

"...your brother?" the officer said slowly.

"Dean! Dean fucking Venture! My brother, my only... bro..." Hank shouted, trailing off as his voice began to quiver again.

There was a moment of silence in the room – as silent as it would get with Hank's sniveling – before the officer that was standing off to the side spoke up, "I knew the kid didn't know jack,"

"Wha...?"

"Kid, your brother's not dead. We found a grave _full _of corpses on your lawn, but your brother we have in custody,"

For a split second everything in Hank's mind came to a halt. He stared blankly at the police officers before bearing his teeth in anger at them. "You sons of bitches think this is funny?!"

"Son, I don't think you understand,"

"No, _you _don't understand! This is a huge deal and you're lying to me?! Why the hell-" Hanks shouting was cut off by a knock on the door. One of the officer's barely had his hand around the knob before the door blew off it's hinges and into the man, knocking him to the ground unconscious.

The man whom had been questioning Hank stood and pulled out his gun, but his finger never made it to the trigger. A familiar muscular man rolled into the small room and lunged at the officer. Brock threw a punches at his head until there was a crack. Brock stood and wiped the blood off his hands and onto his pants.

"Brock," Hank cheered, launching himself at his body guard in a big hug. Finally, a friendly face. The large man did hug back, but the embrace was short lived. Brock placed his hands on Hanks shoulders and pushed the boy away at arms length.

"You okay, Hank?" Brock asked, examining the teen. His bangs were plastered to his forehead with sweat and there was a read tint to his nose and eyes, however, the boy didn't actually seem hurt.

The care and protectiveness of the words brought tears to Hanks eyes again. He wanted to speak, but Hank knew that any word he said would only make him cry harder. "No, come on, Hank. Don't start crying on me, buddy," Brock shushed. He was never that great dealing with the boys when they got over emotional.

Hank gulped down a large breath of air to steady himself. The stinging feeling in his eyes faded and he felt he could speak. "Okay, lets go,"

Brock gave Hank a supportive smack on the back and a small smile before pulling him out of the interrogation room. Unconscious bodies littered the hallways, every monitor Hank could see had static on it, and folders laid everywhere. The whole scene looked quite the struggle. But this seemed odd to the teen, Brock had never had problems taking down multiple people before. "What's with the mess?"

"I – uh – had to get rid of all the evidence that you guys were here... It would be kind of a bother if people came snooping around the compound,"

Hank didn't understand what Brock meant, but he didn't question it.

The two crashed through the doors and into the parking lot of the building. Hank could hear his father's nagging voice, although he didn't see him.

"-again! Are you kidding me? I try to be a good father, I do! But he is driving me up the walls. The police, running away, _starting a fire._ Tell me, where am I going wrong?"

"Maybe it's 'cause you're so hard on the boy. You gotta let him-"

"Let him what?! Be a bum with no future?!"

"_Doc,"_

Hank sighed in frustration. He knew his dad was talking about him; that livid, condescending tone was only ever meant for him. Brock gave his shoulder a squeeze, knowing Rusty tended to be.

"Oh, speak of the arsonist," Rusty shouted, seeing the two blonds walking over to them. He stopped his pacing in favor of crossing his arms and staring daggers at his son.

"_Doc, _I'm sure he didn't do it," Sergeant Hatred said in exasperation. All he had been doing since Brock freed them was arguing with Rusty.

Hank rolled his eyes at his dad's rantings, but stopped when his eyes caught something. Chills ran down his spin and for a second everything seemed to be spinning. In the back of Brock's car sat his brother, Dean. He looked fine, although a tad out of touch as he stared into nothingness. Nevertheless there he was. Alive. Breathing.

It didn't make sense, Hank had been there. Suddenly all the anxiety inside of Hank felt the need to expel itself. He doubled over in pain as his stomach emptied itself onto the ground. Sgt. Hatred took a few steps forward in concern. "Hank,"

Brock put a hand up and said, "He's fine, just feeling a little sick; pretty sure those policemen gave him coffee."

Although he was still concerned, Sgt. Hatred relaxed. He knew Hank wasn't used to drinking coffee, so the beverage and anxiety probably turned his stomach sour.

Brock rubbed Hank's back until he stopped gagging. Once the youth was done, he – and everyone else – squeezed into Brock's car and they drove home. Hank was seated between Dean and Sgt. Hatred, but he leaned more towards his bodyguard; still suspicious of the boy sitting next to him. He silently watched Dean the entire ride home.

…

…

…

His actions felt automatic as he walked into the house and up to his room. Hank went through the motions without thinking about what he was doing. He was only vaguely aware of his father's droning.

Dean entered their shared bedroom with Hank shadowing him a few feet behind. The door closed behind Hank, but he didn't register closing it. His brother seemed as lost as he did. Dean stood utterly still in the middle of the room. Slowly, he trudged to his bed and flopped down on it. He lain on his back, staring at the colorless ceiling.

"I created a monster," Dean finally said. The sudden voice surprised Hank, Dean had been so quiet he was almost certain he was just imagining his twin. Dean continued, "I... I was doing science like dad wanted... and this... this _thing_ appeared. It was crazy and scary looking and it wanted to kill me."

Hank heard him, but the words sounded like gushing water. Or maybe that had been the blood in his veins. The blond rose his hand and lightly tapped the light to their room. Sudden darkness fell around them. That seemed to stir the redhead from his thoughts as he glanced up at his brother.

"Hank?"

Hank had heard his brother say his name thousands of times before, but never before had it sounded more beautiful. Hank walked to over to Dean's bed and straddled his hips. His teal eyes were still blank and his expression emotionless. "...Hank?" Dean squeaked again, at a loss about his brother's actions.

Hank placed his hands on either side of Dean's face and smushed their faces together in a kiss. It was a kiss similar to that he and Dean had done before when they were children. However, this time there wasn't as much innocence in the kiss; it was full of passion and relief. When Hank pulled back he could see the surprise on the freckled face. It was as obvious as the scarlet blush.

"I... I th-ought y-you we-re dead," Hank sobbed, tears streaming down his face. Dean gave him a look of pure confusion. Hank explained, "Me and D-dermott to-ok dad's car f-or a r-ride and I hit you. Or something l-like you. I don't know. But-but I thought you were dead, Dude."

"It's okay, Hank. I'm fine, see," Dean said, grabbing onto Hank's shoulders and shaking him slightly. Hank began wiping the tears from his face, but one glance back to his brother's face and he choked up again. "Hank- oof,"

Dean was knocked onto his back once more. Hank had his arms around his twin's neck and placed small pecks all over Dean's face and jaw. _"Hank,_ stop,_" _Dean laughed. He was too ticklish for this. Hank obliged and settled for simply laying on top of his brother. After a few moments Dean attempted to push his twin off. "Come on, you're heavy,"

Hank glared up at his brother. Dean sighed and gave up, his brother wouldn't be budging any time soon.


End file.
